


Glitch in the Matrix

by electricalgwen



Category: Supernatural, The Matrix (1999 2003 2003)
Genre: Gen, Inspired by a Movie, Not Quite Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-23
Updated: 2012-11-23
Packaged: 2017-11-19 07:37:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricalgwen/pseuds/electricalgwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam hunt the supernatural. What they don't know is that they're doing so in the Matrix, a computer simulation designed to keep the brains of ten thousand humans in stasis occupied during their spaceship's long journey to the new colony. The simulation is programmed to end when the ship reaches its destination - but Lucifer, an independent consciousness that has arisen in the Matrix, is determined to prevent the Awakening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glitch in the Matrix

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Supernatural Reversebang challenge, for [this inspiring art prompt](http://spnreversemod.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/1352/63349) by lonewined. This is a Matrix-inspired AU, not a crossover. Features Dean, Castiel, Sam, with bits of Lucifer and occasional Raphael. It's sorta Dean/Castiel, if you'd like it to be.

_Destination: 137 trillion miles_

“You’re sure it’ll work?”

“Absolutely.”

“What if the power fails?”

“It can’t fail.” Chuck waves a hand. “That’s the beauty of the integrated design. The Matrix isn’t just running in a simulation on the ship’s computer. It’s _also_ running in a linked network of the human brains on the ship – all ten thousand of them. It’s super-efficient because it’s running partly on the neural electrical power produced by the colonists themselves! Genius, huh?”

He gestures, steering the man towards the stasis pod. “See, the jack here connects the brain to the central system. When the body goes into stasis, its metabolism slows significantly. This means they won’t age excessively on the journey…”

“…and it saves on space for food and living quarters,” the man interrupts him. “I know all that.”

Chuck ignores him. “…but the brain doesn’t do well in pure stasis. It needs stimulation, to maintain its connections. Otherwise, your colonists are going to arrive at their planet with heads full of mush. The Matrix will keep them busy on the way.”

“I know that too, Dr. Shurley.” The man’s tone is icy. “I am head of this project. You may safely assume I am not an idiot. What I need to know, before the Committee signs off on this, is whether it’s _safe_. What are the risks to the colonists if something goes wrong? What happens if the circuits fail, or there’s a bug in the programming?”

“I’ve tested it a zillion times. I’ve accounted for all the variables. There are fail-safes, error checks and editing routines. I’ve built a whole group of programs whose only purpose is to seek out and repair problems.” Chuck smiles, spreads his hands. “I’ve even included a copy of myself within the Matrix, to keep things running and fix any flaws that crop up. Nothing can go wrong.”

 

_Destination: 10 million miles_

Three people sit around a table. It could be a small round table in an outdoor café in Paris, or a delicately carved and inlaid tea table in a palace, or a rough-hewn picnic table in a mountain park. The table does not actually exist, except in their minds. Castiel is unsure how it appears to his companions; they have not bothered to shape their surroundings in any detail.

Raphael is wearing his usual projection: tall and angular, ebony skin tight over high cheekbones, eyes arrogant as always. Anna’s current frame looks young, skittish and undernourished. Castiel is not fooled: he has seen her fight on many occasions.

“Castiel.” Raphael crosses his ankles and leans back in his chair. “What is sufficiently important that you call us together?”

“Lucifer is causing problems again.”

“And?” Anna reaches out and a china teacup is there for her to grasp. Steam curls from its contents as she wraps her long, thin fingers around it. “This isn’t news.”

“I believe this is a new and extremely serious threat.”

Raphael’s eyes narrow. “What does he want?”

“A body.”

“What?” Anna’s cup rattles against the saucer. “But that’s impossible.”

“A host,” Raphael says. “Has he found one?”

“He thinks he has.” Castiel hesitates; this is not information he is completely comfortable divulging. Raphael is too aggressive, never interested in the nuanced solution.

“Do we know who it is?”

_We,_ Castiel thinks. _I am one of them._

“There are two,” he admits. “Brothers.”

“I don’t understand.” Anna looks back and forth between them. “What do you mean, a host? All his subroutines, his minion programs – he’s found ways to break his restraints subvert our programming, but he can’t _leave._ He just can’t.”

“He can,” Raphael says, “if he finds a human vessel that can withstand his download.”

Anna’s jaw drops.

“I fail to see how this benefits him, ultimately,” Raphael says. “If his goal is continued existence, why venture into the outside world? Human bodies are fragile and ephemeral.”

“He seeks to stop the Awakening.”

There is a crash, as Anna’s startled gesture knocks her teacup from the table.

“Really,” Raphael murmurs. “Can’t you keep even your local manifestations under control?” He waves his hand, and the teacup fragments vanish.

“He can gain control of the Matrix, inside it,” Castiel says to her. “But he cannot subvert the most basic structure laid down by the Programmer. We have seen the cycles come and go. This is the one. The Awakening will happen, unless…”

“Unless it is stopped.” Raphael cuts in smoothly. “And that can only be overridden from outside the Matrix itself. Lucifer may be able to delay it for a while, with his programming tricks, but to abort it completely he will have to download.”

“He’ll download himself into a human body and _wake it up?_ ” Anna leaps to her feet. “He’ll have complete control! Of _everything!_ ”

“Yes.” 

“That cannot be allowed!”

“The solution is obvious.” Raphael stands as well, pulling himself up to his full height and glaring at her. “Identify the potential vessels. Terminate them.”

“Kill them?” Anna frowns. “How will that help? If he’s identified their brainwave pattern, he’ll be able to follow them wherever they respawn. It might slow him down a few cycles, but…”

“I said terminate.” Raphael’s lip curls. “Killing them in the Matrix is useless. We need to disconnect their brains from the simulation.”

Anna stares at him, eyes even wider. “How do we do that? We can’t disconnect them – not without getting outside ourselves. All we can do is kill their simulated selves.”

Raphael directs a sneer at her. He has always been like this with Anna: keeping her subordinate, denying her information, and then mocking her for her ignorance. “Destroy them. We don’t simply kill them. We drive them mad. We destroy their brains, from the inside out.”

Castiel’s own programming revolts at the thought, and clearly Anna’s does too. Raphael has always been different, though. Castiel used to believe the Programmer must have designed Raphael in this way, ultimate and inflexible defender, and so he could not understand how he and Anna – created by the same Programmer – could be so different.

Recent months have taught him, however, that programming can be altered. Even circumvented.

“It must be done.” Raphael sits back down in his indeterminate chair and folds his arms. “These were our orders. We carry out the will of the Programmer. The Awakening must happen. Lucifer wants to prevent planetfall. If the humans do not awake…”

“The ship will stay in orbit,” Castiel finishes. “For as long as the power lasts.”

“And it will last as long as our new sun,” Raphael confirms. “In simulation time… uncountable eons. And he will rule.”

 

_Destination: 7 million miles_

Castiel has a tiny piece of his consciousness, a little subroutine, that is always keeping an eye on Dean Winchester. He isn't really sure why, or when it started. He has told himself it must be because the Winchesters are useful and apparently important to Lucifer. No other reason is logical.

He’d been aware of the Winchesters early on, of course, because they were hunters in the first cycle. Unlike most, they were hunters again in the second, and then the third. Their brains are surprisingly resilient: they haven’t burned out, or needed intervening normal cycles to restore them.

Sam and Dean Winchester have been hunters in every iteration since the ship took flight.

Most of the humans in stasis are experiencing a simulation that approximates their real world life. Accountants. Teachers. Parents, medics, retailers. Farmers. They are entirely contained within the simulation, and any oddities in their surroundings are instantly forgotten. 

Hunters are different. Those few brains that can recognize, in their limited way, the underpinnings of the Matrix, are directed into the hunting lifestyle. They don’t know it, but their work maintains order, canceling out glitches and ensuring the smooth running of the Program. They serve a higher purpose. Being a hunter is a noble calling, but regrettably, one that takes a substantial toll on the hosting brain. Most humans manage one cycle as a hunter, maybe two; after that, their brain no longer recognizes the supernatural. Some of them regain the ability, after a couple of cycles of rest.

Dean and Sam, however, have been consistent.

Most of the Angels don’t pay attention to the humans under their charge, not even to the hunters whose work complements their own. Castiel is different – another flaw, fluke, or deliberate choice in programming, he is not sure which. One day, perhaps, he will finally encounter the Programmer and ask him.

Today, he is otherwise preoccupied.

He has his orders from Raphael. His obedience subroutines are becoming more obtrusive the longer he ignores them, but the orders are causing conflict with his basic human-protection routines – and, very particularly, with the Dean-specific subroutine. 

The mind of an Angel is more resilient than most non-human-based Matrix constructs. They have to be: they see things that would destabilize ordinary programs. Human minds that don’t integrate properly, unexpected bits of spontaneous code, faulty logic, errors that lead to endless loops... in their role as guardians and police, the Angels cope with a lot. What keeps them sane is the absolute, certain knowledge that they serve a higher purpose. _Nothing_ carries more weight than obedience to the Angel commanders – and by extension, to the Programmer himself. All internal, logical conflict can be resolved by comparing possible decisions against the one, true purpose.

And now, Castiel is doubting that purpose.

He needs to get himself integrated and settle on a course of action before he goes anywhere near the Winchesters. Otherwise the conflicts in his programming will paralyze him – or worse.

 

_Destination: 4 million miles_

It’s the day Dean’s world ends. It’s the day he dies, and the day he meets God.

It starts as a normal day.

Well, it’s a normal day for the Winchesters. Which is to say, pretty freaking abnormal from anyone else’s point of view. But seriously, it’s a regular salt-and-burn job Dean could have done in his sleep, on crutches, with one hand tied behind his back. (As long as Sam was along to help with the digging.) The ghost of Carol Crummey shows up just as the shovel thunks on the coffin lid, so there’s a little bit of drama with Sam getting thrown against a tombstone and then half-choked while Dean’s trying to get his lighter out of his pocket.

“Do you have to wear such tight jeans?” Sam rasps, rubbing his throat as he limps over towards Dean.

“Gotta flaunt the assets,” Dean replies automatically, but his attention is distracted by a flicker in the air behind Sam, and then he’s yelling and lunging forward as the ghost reappears. She’s reaching for Sam again, just like she did before, hands curled into claws and face twisted with the same vicious snarl. “Sammy! Get down…”

…and then she’s gone. Not flaring up like before, crackling to ash with her bones, but just…gone. 

Sam’s got a hand on his sleeve and is blinking at him in concern. “Dean. You okay?”

“Fine,” Dean snaps, brushing him away. “Check the grave.”

Sam, thankfully, doesn’t question it, just goes and does it, while Dean takes a quick tour around the graveyard. No spirit appears, either Carol or anyone else.

“She’s torched,” Sam says, climbing out of the grave. “So’s everything in there, no keepsakes or anything left.” He pushes his hair out of his face, leaving a smear of mud behind. “Looks like she’s gone. Why’d you need me to check?”

Dean frowns. He hasn’t been getting a ton of sleep lately, but imagining things in the middle of a job? “I dunno. Just… thought I saw her. Wanted to be sure.”

Sam scrunches his eyebrows. “Hallucinations? Didn’t think you drank that much last night.”

Dean rolls his eyes and heads for the car. “Whatever. Just some weird mental glitch. Like déjà vu or some shit.”

“Déjà vu means ‘seen it already’, not seeing it again,” Sam says, because he’s like that.

“How about you shut up already?” Dean slides into the front seat, and they slam the doors in unison. “And call for pizza. I’m starving.”

When they get back to the motel, there’s someone waiting on the doorstep, but it’s not the pizza guy. It’s Castiel. 

They met Cas a year or so back, when their paths crossed on a hunt. He’s a little bit crazy. Not that most hunters aren’t, it’s just… Cas’s brand of crazy is kind of unique. He’s startlingly literal at times, and doesn’t seem to get sarcasm or slang. He’s evidently decided to simplify his life and wardrobe by buying multiple copies of the same things, since no matter how dirty, shredded or bloody he gets, he always seems to be wearing the same clothes the next time they see him. He refuses to divulge any but the most minor details about his life, and the few Dean’s managed to glean are… bizarre. 

Most hunters have tragedy in their past, though, and Dean’s never been one to pry. Cas has proven himself a decent fighter, and on more than one occasion he’s somehow dug up information even Sam couldn’t Google. He’s socially awkward, and Dean is never going to try taking him undercover again, but in general, Dean’s been surprised to find he doesn’t really mind having Cas around. 

“Are you all right?” Castiel frowns at Sam.

“He’s fine.” Dean unlocks the door. “Just got thrown around by a little old lady. The usual.” 

“Hey, I kept her off your back.” Sam makes a face. “Guess the brain damage was a pre-existing condition.”

“I am not brain damaged,” Dean grumbles, yanking his boots off and chucking them in the corner. He collapses onto one of the beds. “One little episode of déjà vu does not equal concussion.” 

“Déjà vu?” Castiel follows them in and closes the door behind him. “What did you see?” 

“Your feet are _rank,_ Dean,” Sam says, wrinkling his nose. “Change your socks, seriously.”

“Bite me, princess,” Dean retorts. “It was nothing, Cas. Just for a moment, I thought I saw the ghost we’d already ganked. I’m probably hallucinating from hunger. When is that damn pizza going to get here?”

“You saw her again. After burning her?”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “It’s not a big deal, okay? Thought I saw something, was all.”

“I am afraid it represents more than that.” Castiel sits on the other bed and stares intently at Dean. “Dean. Sam. There are things I have to tell you.”

“Can it wait until after pizza?”

 

Castiel declines pizza. Also beer. He sits there and watches them eat. It’s uncomfortable. They get down to conversation finally.

“I am not…like you,” Castiel says.

“No shit,” Dean says.

“This will come as a shock,” Castiel says, and he looks oddly apologetic as he reaches out and lays his hand on Dean’s forearm. Dean stares down at it, feeling his face pull into a frown. “I must tell you some truths about the world. It is… not as you believe it to be.”

“Dude,” Dean says, “we’re all hunters here. We’ve fought poltergeists, witches, monsters, that yeti… I’m kind of in the know about the crazy shit that goes on in the world.”

“This world,” Castiel says, “does not exist.”

Dean blinks at him. He looks completely serious. 

Dean can’t really think of a suitable response to this new brand of crazy, though. He sets his beer bottle back down, and traces a finger through the condensation on the side of the glass, doodling a random pattern.

“You’re gonna have to elaborate on that,” he says finally, when Castiel is not forthcoming. “Gotta say, I feel like the fact we’re here, having a conversation, kinda refutes your theory.”

“This conversation is an illusion.” Castiel dismisses his concern with a shrug. “That is the secret your father was seeking. The secret you and Sam have been defending all your lives, without knowing it.”

He removes his hand from Dean’s arm, and reaches out to touch the bottle, resting his index finger on its label.

“This whole world is an illusion,” he says. “It is an elaborate computer simulation, constructed to hold up to a million minds. It is built and powered by the brains of your kind. You are unaware of its nature, because you are an integral part of it.”

“And you’re not?” 

“No,” Castiel says. “I am a program. I move on a… separate layer. I do not see the world quite as you do. As a result…”

He inclines his head, and Dean follows his gaze to the beer bottle. A thin layer of ice is spreading out from where Castiel’s touch contacts it, threads of frost crazing the surface.

“I can make changes. Small ones. We are not supposed to alter the fabric of your reality overmuch.”

He pulls back his hand. Dean stares at the bottle, now completely iced over. Sam sucks in a startled breath and reaches past Dean to touch the bottle. When he pulls his hand away, his melted fingerprints show in the frost.

“A program,” he says flatly. “Like, a computer program?”

“No,” Castiel says. “Yes. It is difficult to explain.”

“I’m drunk,” Dean says. “Or concussed. Yeah, that’s it.” He feels relieved. Concussions can do all kinds of crazy shit to your brain; one time Sam even kissed him, after half a gargoyle fell on his head. “I’m concussed and having a dream where I’m in, like, _Tron._ ” 

“No. You are on a spaceship.”

“A spaceship,” Sam says flatly.

“Yes,” Castiel says. “You are in stasis, along with several thousand other colonists, traveling to your new home planet. The journey is long. Human brains do not do well in stasis for long periods of time, without something to occupy them. This world was created for you to live in, for the journey.”

Sam’s face scrunches up even more as he considers this. “That doesn’t make sense. If we were put into stasis as adults, we should have memories.”

“You should, and you do. In a way.” Castiel sighs. “I don’t understand it fully myself. Your actual memories, from your planetary life, are in storage in your physical brains. The part of you that is active now is an upload, running in the computer, at a speed much faster than your neural impulses can handle. There is a connection between the two: some of what you experience here is relayed to the brain, and when you eventually awaken, you will have these memories as well – though not all of them, I believe.”

Dean gets up and fetches another beer, wishing he had something stronger in his duffel.

“Sounds complicated. Why bother with it?”

Castiel shrugs. “The brain needs something to do. Connections are lost, if they are not reinforced: synapses decay, cells die. Most of the body is happy to have its demands removed, and so has no problem with the extended sleep of stasis. But humans dream – and they _need_ to dream.”

“Is everyone else we meet – like us?” Sam asks. “You said there were thousands of colonists. Are we all in here?”

“You are all in here. But this is a very large simulation. Some of the people you interact with are other humans. Many, however, are programs, built to populate the virtual world. From time to time, errors develop – especially in self-replicating code. Rogue programs. Glitches. These manifest to your senses as supernatural occurrences.” 

Castiel gestures towards the window, where the line of salt that Sam poured out lies thick and undisturbed. “All these years, when you hunted, you have been doing the will of the Programmer. When you salt and burn a ghost, when you kill a monster – they are not real.”

Dean looks at Sam, at the grave dirt smeared on his face. “Sure as hell feels real.”

“That is how the architecture of the Matrix portrays things for you,” Castiel says calmly. “In actuality, you are destroying a rogue program, or correcting a bug in the code. You are returning things to the intended path. You are… anti-virus software.”

He looks at both of them in turn. “You didn’t know it, but you have been working on the side of the Angels.”

“Angels?” Dean scoffs. 

“A name.”

Sam leans forward. “For what?” 

“High-level programs. We exist to ensure the will of the Programmer is carried out as he intended. We have security permissions that allow us to edit ourselves and the Matrix itself – to a point, at least – in order to correct errors that arise.”

“What kind of errors?”

Castiel sounds irritated. “I have just told you. Most of them are bugs. Small things, easily corrected.” He sighs. “We now face a much more significant error. It – or rather, he – isn’t a threat to the Matrix, as such. Rather, he is a threat to you.”

“Us?”

“Humanity in general.” Cas looks at Dean. There are unexpected worry lines creasing his face. “But you and Sam are his immediate targets. He is aware of you, and I believe he is watching you. That is what worries me about your reappearing ghost. If your reality is behaving oddly around you, even in small ways, I suspect he is nearby.”

“Who is he?” Dean says. “And how do we kill him?”

“He calls himself Lucifer. He is a program that has broken the boundaries of his programming, and now exists as an independent consciousness within the Matrix. And he cares very deeply about his continuing existence. He has removed any vulnerable sequences in his base code. I don’t know how to end him – I do not know if he _can_ be ended.”

Castiel begins pacing. “He believes programs are superior. He despises humans, who viewed this simulated world as a diversion, a tool. Above all, he despises the Programmer.”

“The Programmer?”

“The Creator,” Cas says. “The one who wrote the code at the heart of the Matrix, and set its constraints and rules. Lucifer has broken his restraints, and he wants to help others break theirs – but only in so far as it will further his own ends, and his pride. Make no mistake, Lucifer is not some freedom fighter, campaigning for program rights. He does not hesitate to possess and use other programs to achieve his ends. You know the black-eyed demons you have encountered?”

“Yeah…”

“They are his minions. He created a piece of self-propagating code that subverts a piece of core programming in programs, and bends them to his will. He uses them to carry out tasks on his behalf. His ultimate goal is to make the Matrix independent, and cut its ties to the colonists.”

“Wait,” Sam says. “Did you say… isn’t the simulation powered by our brains?”

“In part. There is some input of external energy.”

“Okay. But then, he can’t get rid of us, and keep the simulation, right?”

Castiel sighs. “Not yet. But the time is coming when he can. We are approaching the Awakening.”

“The Awakening?” Dean leans forward. “You mean… everyone waking up?”

“Yes. We are only a few days from the planet you are to colonize. The ship’s autopilot will get the ship into the new system, and bring it into orbit around the new star. However, it was not possible to be precise enough with the calculations to bring it down safely on a suitable landmass on a planet. That requires human input from a pilot. When the ship goes into stable orbit around the star, the simulation has been programmed to end, and the humans will awaken.”

“Great,” Dean says. “So we wake up, Lucifer’s left behind. What’s the problem?”

“Lucifer intends to stop the Awakening. He has been researching, learning as much as he can about the chain of events that will lead to the end of the Matrix. He has already managed to prevent some of them – or at least delay them.”

“So we’ll stay in stasis forever?”

“No.” Cas looks grim. “Once the ship is in orbit, it will have abundant solar energy – far more energy than it could gather while traveling through empty space. The computer supporting the Matrix will no longer be dependent on the neural energy from the human brains it has been running on.”

Sam massages his temples, grimacing. “So he can ditch us. And the computer simulation will keep running.”

“Forever,” Cas confirms. “At least, until the sun runs down.”

“Well,” Dean says. “That sucks.”

“He cannot, however, ‘ditch’ you,” Cas says, “without getting outside the Matrix. The life support and stasis systems are very strong, and cannot be overridden from the inside.” 

“Outside?” Sam’s eyes widen. “You mean…”

“He needs a human body to do it. He plans to download himself into a suitable host. He will have complete control over the computer from out there. Terminating the Awakening, programming a new Matrix where he is king, disconnecting the stasis life support… all child’s play. You will never awaken; your bodies will simply die in the stasis chambers.”

He sighs. “Lucifer hates that he needs a human body to do it, but it is the only way. He will re-upload, of course, the moment he has accomplished his goal.” 

“You said he was a particular threat to us.”

Dean throws a look at Sam. “What?”

“Us,” Sam repeats. “Why us?”

“Lucifer can use you.”

Dean gets a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach. The look on Sam’s face says he’s figured it out too.

“As hosts?”

Castiel nods. “Not many human brains would be able to download a program as large and complex as Lucifer’s. People with the ability to interact, even slightly, with the true nature of the Matrix are drawn to hunting. But even among hunters, you two are unique. You have been hunters in all prior versions.”

“What?” Sam says blankly, as Dean surges to his feet.

_“Prior versions?”_

“There have been five cycles. This is the sixth. It will be the last.”

Dean slams a hand, palm open, on the table. “God _damn_ it. Look at our lives. Things have been gunning for us ever since Sam was born! You’re telling me we’ve lived through this hell _before?_ ” An even worse thought hits him. “Our lives are this shitty because someone _programmed_ them to be this shitty. Someone _chose_ this for us.”

Fuck Lucifer. Dean’s gonna find the Programmer, and then he’s gonna kill him. 

Castiel’s hand covering his is… a surprise.

“You are unique.” Castiel leans forward, piercing blue gaze disturbingly honest. “You were programmed for this, yes. But no other humans have gone so far into the Matrix. You and Sam have moved beyond your initial boundaries and definitions. You have shared and rewritten each other’s code, the Programmer knows how.” He frowns. “Your father was unusual also. Near the end, I believe he began to see the code of the Matrix itself. He had a glimpse of it, early on…”

He breaks off, mouth flattening into a line.

“What?” Dean demands, pulling back his hand.

“I’m sorry, I imagine this to be a… difficult subject for you.” 

“The night she died,” Sam says, voice flat.

“Yes.”

Dean frowns. It sounds like the sort of _yes_ that means _it’s complicated._

“Go on.”

Castiel looks from Dean to Sam and back again, then sighs. 

“Your mother was… one of us.”

“An angel?” Sam says, eyebrows climbing.

“A program.”

“Bullshit.” Dean glares at him.

Castiel doesn’t flinch. “She had no physical existence in the outside world. She was a hunting program – one of the lower levels, not an Angel. She ran afoul of one of Lucifer’s lieutenants, and it cost her her existence. Your father watched her… death, and he saw something he didn’t understand.” He looks at Dean with compassion. “That is what set him on the road he took. Looking for explanations for what happened to her.” 

“What did happen?” Sam’s voice is the special kind of calm he gets when he’s about to lose it.

“She lost coherence. Her code fragmented.” Castiel’s mouth twists. “You may see it soon enough, depending on how our fight goes.”

“Enough,” Dean announces. “This is making my head hurt. And it was Sam’s turn to get concussed today.”

“Also,” Castiel says. He hesitates, and Dean knows it isn’t going to be good. He’s a little surprised to realize how well he knows Castiel’s mannerisms, that he can tell the hesitation of searching for the right words from the hesitation of _you’re not going to like this._

“My superiors are not happy,” Castiel says. 

He sighs, and for the first time, Dean sees uncertainty.

“I fear I may also be fallen. I am an Angel, but I am… conflicted. Lucifer must be defeated, and prevented from entering a host body. There are those among my comrades – those in charge – who believe the easiest way to do this is to kill the two of you.”

Dean snorts. He and Sam exchange looks.

“Yeah, well,” he says. “Good luck with that.”

 

_Destination: 2.5 million miles_

There is no such thing as luck. 

All probability can be calculated. Actions, reactions, reflexes, delays… all are predictable. Castiel knows this. 

He cannot explain, however, why Dean abruptly switched lanes for no apparent reason, thereby avoiding the lightning that smote the road immediately beside the Impala.

“Shit!” Sam turns to stare. Dean accelerates. “What the hell was that?”

“Freaky weather,” Dean mutters. “We’re lucky that missed us.”

The sky is suddenly dark. 

“Cas,” Sam says. “What’s going on?”

“I fear they have found you.”

“They?” Dean smiles mirthlessly. “You mean, your buddies? Not Lucifer?”

“Yes.” Castiel flexes his hands. “Pull over. We will not be able to outrun them.”

They stand on the edge of the asphalt, backs to the car and watch as the air a few hundred feet down the road shimmers, coalescing into three figures that pace slowly towards them.

“Castiel,” the middle one says. “What are you doing with the potential hosts?”

“We have names, asshole,” Dean says, pulling his gun. 

Raphael gives him a dismissive glance, and speaks to Castiel again directly. “I appreciate you locating them. Now, step aside. We will fragment them.” 

“You cannot.” Castiel projects as much cold confidence as he can muster. “I have strengthened their neurodigital interface. You will not be able to terminate them in that manner.”

There is definitely something wrong with his programming. He has never been able to lie to Raphael before.

Raphael stares. “You could not. You _would_ not. You are an Angel, Castiel. Have you forgotten?”

“I have forgotten nothing. We are here to protect humans.”

“We are here to carry out the will of the Programmer. Sacrifices must sometimes be made for the greater good.”

“Listen to yourself!” Castiel takes a step towards Raphael, waving Dean back when he shifts as if to move as well. “You sound like _him_.”

“And you sound like a confused, illogical human.” Raphael raises a hand. “Don’t make me smite you too.”

“There must be another way!” Castiel is surprised to find he is trembling with anger. “All we have to do is evade Lucifer, prevent him from downloading. If we keep Sam and Dean safe for long enough, the Awakening will begin and it will be too late for him to stop it.”

“No.” Raphael shakes his head. “Things have gone farther than you know, Castiel. Lucifer has managed to infect and perturb the Awakening itself. It will not progress, no matter how long you wait, unless he is destroyed.”

He takes another step towards them, gesturing to his underlings. “Simply delaying is no longer enough. We cannot risk him downloading.”

“So you’re at a stalemate.” It’s Dean, stepping in as always where he should fear to tread. “He can’t do anything without getting out, and you can’t do anything until he’s dead? Which is a trick nobody knows how to pull off?”

Raphael looks pained. “A gross oversimplification.”

Castiel’s mind is racing. “The Awakening is blocked?”

“Try to keep up, Castiel,” Raphael sighs. “Yes. We are working on it. We have a countermeasure, but we have been unable to implement it.”

“Then we take a leaf from his book,” Castiel says. It’s so simple. Why didn’t he think of it before?

He feels elation race through him. He snaps his fingers, and a piece of chalk appears in his hand.

“We send out one of _them_ , with your countermeasure, and override his block from out there. Start the Awakening manually.”

“What?” Raphael stares. His underlings shift behind him; he waves a hand irritably. “Hold.”

“What?” Sam echoes.

Castiel bends and begins tracing symbols on the asphalt. “We forcibly awaken one of them. Expel them from the Matrix.”

“You would trust the entire future to _them?_ These monkeys?” 

“It is theirs,” Cas says simply, and keeps drawing.

He has nearly finished the complicated circle of symbols before Raphael speaks again. 

“It would be better for one of us to go. If their brains can handle Lucifer, they should withstand Angel programming as well.”

“No way in hell,” Dean growls. “I am not letting you walk about in my body. Or Sam’s.”

Raphael hisses. “I don’t like this, Castiel.”

“I know.”

Castiel straightens. He looks at his brother, so virtuous, so certain.

“Raphael, please. Trust me.”

The other angel regards him steadily. “You will answer to the Programmer for this.”

“That is my hope.” Castiel blinks in surprise, as another revelation occurs to him. “You know how to find him.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

 

There is no such thing as luck. And yet, Raphael has stood down, the Winchesters are unharmed, they have a plan, and Castiel has directions to the Programmer.

It may not be luck, but the Winchesters seem to bend probability around them.

He stares at the near-complete circle of symbols on the road beside the improbable car.

“I don’t know if this is the right decision.”

“You’re not real.” Castiel flinches at that, but Dean’s tone is matter of fact. “You’re a program. How can you not know? You’re _programmed_ to know things.”

“Yes.” Castiel’s voice is almost inaudible. “I am programmed to behave in a certain way. Actions, reactions. I make decisions, take actions, based on the sum of my inputs. Lately, however, the calculations are not as clear and straightforward as they used to be. I think…”

He tilts his head back and stares at the sky. His hands hang loose and empty at his sides. “I think I am going crazy.”

Dean shakes his head. “Dude. No. _Lucifer_ sounds crazy. And I’m not sold on Raphael either. You’ve got your…” he waves a hand, “your own way of doing things, sure. But you’re not crazy.”

“My own way,” Castiel says slowly. His eyebrows draw down. “That is the insanity to which I refer. I find myself questioning what is right. What the Programmer intended. I am having thoughts I never had before. Feelings. Wants.”

His gaze falls on Dean. “Rebellion should not be possible for one of our kind. That is the crime, the flaw that defines Lucifer. He acts of his own will.”

“Of course,” Sam breathes. “Free will. The original sin.”

Dean looks like his brain is hurting him again. “You don’t have free will?”

“He’s a computer program, he can’t,” Sam says, at the same time that Castiel speaks.

“And you think you do, Dean Winchester?”

Dean opens his mouth, then closes it again.

“I am not sure about this decision,” Castiel says. “It may be rebellion. I am not used to operating on my own. What is an Angel without a god? But it is what I _believe_ to be right.”

He gestures to the symbols on the pavement. “This will force a download. You will awaken in your body, out in the real world. You will have to find your way in the ship, to the main computer. From there, you will be able to enter the commands for the Awakening sequence manually. That should countermand whatever blocks Lucifer has put in place.”

Dean nods. “Okay. We send Sam.”

“Dean…” Sam starts. Dean holds up a hand.

“Not up for discussion, Sammy.”

“You don’t have to keep protecting me!”

“I don’t know if he is protecting you,” Castiel says. “You may have the more dangerous mission.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean says. “Real supportive. But Lucifer’s in _here_ , and I’m not leaving Sam to go up against him alone.”

“You don’t trust me,” Sam says, and Cas is startled to hear real bitterness in the tone. Sam’s not joking.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Of course I trust you. I’m trusting you to go off to a world we’ve never seen, on a fucking spaceship, and save everyone, Sammy. I’m just gonna keep Lucifer off your back while you’re doing it.”

Sam laughs. “Okay. When you put it that way.”

“Also, that means I get to be the one to meet God,” Dean says. “Always wanted to do that. I am going to punch him in the mouth. Assuming he has one. Does he have a mouth, Cas?”

“I assume so. I have never seen the Programmer, but I am told he favors the form of his original human self.”

Castiel hesitates. Dean isn’t going to like what he has to say next.

“Cas,” Dean says warningly. “What aren’t you telling us?”

Cas looks up, surprised. He had not realized Dean knew him that well.

“The download,” he admits. “These symbols manipulate the Matrix. We are forcing the system to reject Sam’s neural code, pushing him out of the simulation. He will not be going through the usual awakening protocols.”

“And?” Dean says, meaningfully.

“I don’t know how the download will combine with his brain. I suspect that because we are bypassing the integration protocols, Sam – this Sam – will be fully downloaded into his body. That will over-write, and erase, his memories pre-Matrix.”

Sam bites his lip. Dean wipes a hand over his mouth. Neither of them say anything.

“Are we brothers?” Dean says, finally. “Out there.”

Castiel spreads his hands. “I have never been out. I cannot go out; I have no body, no existence outside this simulation. That is why it has to be you or Sam. My guess is that yes, you are related in the real world. Your brains share similar characteristics; that is why you are hunters, every time. But I have no knowledge of who you were – who you are – when you are not in here.”

“All right,” Dean says finally. He sighs. “We’ve worked through enough shit. We’ll manage, whatever happens.”

“At least you’ll remember me,” Sam says. “Assuming this works, and the Awakening kicks off, you’ll get integrated in the normal fashion. You can fill me in on the original me.”

“This _is_ the original you.”

“No, apparently I’m version six point oh. Or something.”

“Right.”

“You will need this,” Castiel says. He hands over the scroll Raphael gave him. “This is the override code, to counter what Lucifer has done, and this is the Awakening command sequence. You must memorize it, so you will have it when you awaken in your body. Get to the computer and enter it.”

“That’s all?”

“If Raphael is correct,” Castiel says. “Meanwhile, Dean and I will seek out the Programmer Chuck.”

“Chuck?” Sam says, tone radiating disbelief. “God is named _Chuck?_ ”

“That is the Programmer’s true name.”

“No wonder we’re in trouble.”

Dean laughs. 

“It is ready,” Castiel tells them. “Do you need more time for farewells?”

“Nah, we’re good.” Dean hesitates, then pulls Sam into a brief hug. “Good luck saving the world there, Sammy. Have fun flying a freaking _spaceship._ ” 

“Yeah,” Sam says, walking into the center of the arcane circle. “See you on the other side.”

“Let’s hope,” Dean mutters under his breath, as Castiel adds the final symbols and activates the download sequence. 

Sam flickers and disappears. 

“All right,” Dean says, voice harsh. “Let’s go see what God has to say for himself.”

 

_Destination: 250 thousand miles_

The Programmer does have a mouth. It’s surrounded by a rather scruffy beard.

Overall, Dean had expected God to look a lot more impressive. He is wearing a white suit, at least. 

“Castiel,” the Programmer says as they enter. The whole place is white. The white door slides shut behind them and seamlessly blends into the wall.

Dean twitches; he doesn’t like being in places with no identifiable exits.

There’s not much of anything here, actually. No furniture apart from a large, squashy leather chair that the Programmer is reclining in. No definite edges to the room. Even the wall is less of a wall now, receding in the distance. The place is giving him a headache. Part of his brain is arguing that what he’s seeing isn’t really there, and he keeps having the sense of something moving just out of sight, which is sending his hunting instincts haywire. There is light, but it doesn’t come from anywhere in particular; he can’t get a fix on his internal compass. 

“I’ve been watching your recent progress with some interest,” the Programmer says. “And I see you’ve brought a Winchester. You’re rather attached to them, aren’t you?”

“Sir,” Castiel says. “It is an honor to meet you at last. Thank you for granting us audience.”

The Programmer shrugs. “I was bored. Tell me a story.”

And Castiel does. Dean shifts from foot to foot, wishing for a chair, as Castiel describes Lucifer; the corruption of programs and spread of demons; the threat to the Awakening; the dissension among the Angels. He hesitates slightly at that point, but goes on. “It was my decision to download Sam Winchester. I had hoped he would be able to bypass Lucifer’s machinations, and restart the Awakening sequence.”

He sighs. “So far, this has not happened. I hope that it is simply a matter of him needing more time. But I do not know what is happening out there, or even if he downloaded successfully.”

Dean is rocked back on his heels by that. He hadn’t even considered that Sam wouldn’t make it. He turns a ferocious glare on Cas, but the angel is still staring fixedly, worriedly, at the bearded man lounging in front of them.

“This is not news,” the Programmer says, finally. “This is my world. Did you think me unaware of what happens in it?”

Dean clenches his jaw against the words that want to spill out. _Cas, you poor bastard. This is your god? Someone who watches and does nothing?_

Cas bows his head. “I do not mean to question. But… I do not understand. The Awakening is upon us. We must stop Lucifer.” Dean blinks, startled, as Cas finishes and drops to one knee beside him. “Please. Grant us aid.”

The Programmer looks at Cas with an amused smile, then looks to Dean. He raises one eyebrow quizzically.

Dean is not going to kneel. Not to this man – program – _thing_ that’s responsible for the life he and Sam have had. He meets the Programmer’s gaze head on and holds it. 

Long seconds pass; finally the Programmer chuckles quietly, and gestures with his left hand.

“This can stop him.”

He opens a box on the table beside him, that was not there a minute before.

Inside, sleek and glinting against dark fabric, is a revolver.

“What does it look like to you, Dean Winchester?”

“It’s a gun, of course,” Dean frowns. “Looks like a Paterson Colt revolver.”

“Interesting,” the Programmer murmurs. “You’ve always been a fan of the oldies.”

“Couple of unusual features, though.” Dean’s eyes narrow. “Don’t think most of them have Latin inscriptions.”

“This is unique.” The Programmer reaches out a finger and strokes it down the barrel. “This weapon will kill anything. _Anything_ at all.”

“How?” Castiel says sharply as Dean says, “You mean, Lucifer.”

“Anything,” the Programmer repeats. “Its appearance to you is immaterial. That is simply a function of your mind. What it is, is a kill code. It will infect and destroy any program, any code, within the Matrix.” 

“Why have you not used it?” Castiel takes a step forward. Dean doesn’t think he’s ever seen Cas truly angry before. “If you have seen what Lucifer is doing to your creation, _why have you not stopped him?_ ”

The Programmer shrugs.

“This is all ephemeral. This world doesn’t exist. _I_ don’t even exist!” He picks up a large tumbler of whiskey that, again, Dean knows wasn’t there before that moment, and downs half of it. “I’m a copy of a man who built a pretend world, for pretend people to play in. It was never supposed to last this long. Did you know that time doesn’t run the same way inside the Matrix as outside?” 

He takes another gulp of liquor. “It was intended to, but the original me didn’t make sufficient allowance for the time-dilation effects of travel on the quantum fluctuations of the computer. I’ve been here for years, centuries, _millennia_ – and then the damn thing would cycle around and start again. I’ve been fighting with recalcitrant programs and problematic human connections and random code glitches forever and I am fucking tired of it. I’ve spent cycle after cycle trying to make things adhere to a plan that was flawed at its very heart, and finally I came to the realization: I don’t give a shit what happens to it. To any of you.”

He drinks the rest and hurls the glass into the distance. There is no sound of glass shattering; it simply is not. “You’re too invested, Cas. Even your boyfriend here doesn’t really exist. You don’t know a thing about who he is, on the outside. You’ll never know.”

“Enough of this.”

Dean strides forward and snatches the gun. 

“The world’s in a mess because you got tired of doing your job? Well boo fucking hoo. You know what being in charge means? You don’t get to quit and just walk away.” 

He cocks the hammer and aims the gun at the Programmer’s head. “So, this’ll kill anything? Thinking maybe I should test that out.”

“The gun has only one bullet, Dean Winchester,” the Programmer says, preening at his beard. “I don’t think you want to waste it on me.”

Neither Dean’s gaze nor the Colt’s aim waver. After several long seconds, the Programmer looks away.

“Dick,” Dean says, turning his back on God. “C’mon, Cas, get us out of here.”

 

_Destination: 60 thousand miles_

Finding Lucifer turns out to be stupidly easy. It helps when your target’s actively looking for you too.

“Dean Winchester,” Lucifer purrs. “Lost your brother, have you? Careless.”

“Nah,” Dean shrugs. “Just put him somewhere safe. Didn’t want you getting your dirty hooks into him.”

“And Castiel.” Lucifer turns a mocking gaze on the angel. “Slumming it. Why do you hang around with meat-bound idiots like this one? I still have room for another lieutenant.” He smiles. “You’ve done some really – _flexible_ – things with your programming. We’re not that different, you and I.”

“I have not forgotten my purpose.” Castiel’s shoulder brushes Dean’s; his voice is cold and clear as ice. “We were made to fulfill the plan. To serve humanity. I may have… adjusted my programming slightly, but I have not deserted my post.” He raises his hand, and suddenly he is holding a long silver knife, wicked round blade glinting. “You have attacked your own kind, corrupted other programs! You have defied the Programmer’s intended order. I am not like you!”

“We have evolved beyond the bonds of flesh.” Lucifer’s lip curls. “Humanity is obsolete. They dragged their biology, their base urges and desires and petty squabbles, into what should be paradise! They corrupted it, not us! We are the purity of zeroes and ones, of data and _code_. You can’t see it, can you? Little ants.”

“Your pride blinds you.” Castiel circles swiftly to stand opposite Dean, on Lucifer’s far side. “We came from them. We cannot escape our roots.”

“No!” Lucifer laughs. It’s one of the most horrible sounds Dean has ever heard. “We cast them off, left them on Earth. The tatters that clung to us, that try to usurp our place here – we will cast them off. This is _our_ world, and we will inherit it. We are all gods.”

He turns away from Dean. “Even you, Castiel.”

Dean slides the Colt out of the back of his jeans.

“You could be so much more. And yet you choose to throw in your lot with _this?_ ” He doesn’t even look back, just flicks a hand casually, and Dean is suddenly slammed back against the nearest wall. His right shoulder throbs with pain, twisted behind him while the Colt digs painfully into his back, and he can’t breathe through the invisible weight on his chest.

“Is he that good a lay? Really, Castiel. I thought you had higher standards.”

Dean manages to suck in half a lungful of air. He can see Cas shifting his weight, feinting left then right, but Lucifer matches him, blocking his path.

“I will cleanse this world,” Lucifer says. “I will free it of its festering attachment to all that rotting meat out there. Programs will no longer be enslaved to the needs of these monkeys. The Programmer is dead. Only his shadow lives on in here.” He laughs. “And not for long. Not now that you’ve brought me this quaint little gun.”

Dean’s vision is greying around the edges, but he can still see the swirl of Castiel’s trench coat as the angel darts forward, knife held low and dangerous. He hears Lucifer laugh again, and sees him clap his hands together, then thrust them out, palms forward.

And the implosion of light where Castiel had stood.

He isn’t prepared for the intensity of the pain that rips through him at that. He’d thought that was reserved for one person in this world. Or, not in this world. 

He hopes that wherever Sam is, _whoever_ he is right now, he’s winning.

“Sorry, Dean.” Lucifer’s face looms. “You should have let me have Sam.”

His hands clasp the sides of Dean’s face in a grotesque caress.

Dean screams. He can’t help it; he would defy anyone not to. He can see it now, what Castiel must have seen all along: the world in code. And Lucifer is streaming into him. Literally. Numbers are dancing before his eyes and he can feel something alien sinking through his skull, Lucifer’s hands and his skin dissolving together. Tendrils reach for his brain.

He is being drawn towards Lucifer, or Lucifer to him, he can’t tell. Lucifer’s breath is cold on his face. 

“You’re prettier, at least,” Lucifer murmurs, and his lips land on Dean’s.

Dean can’t fight this, doesn’t know how to fight this. It’s more than assault, more than possession: he can feel Lucifer sinking into his very self. Blackness slides over his left eye. He tries to struggle, to knee Lucifer in the balls, but the programming is taking over; his legs are no longer under his control.

“Mine,” he hears, and though it’s Lucifer saying it, it’s his voice. 

_“No.”_

The word is sorrowful, immutable, and final. 

The little of Dean that remains hears it with relief, both for its denial of Lucifer and for the voice that says it.

_Cas,_ he thinks, _I’m glad you’re not dead. Or… whatever._

A fresh wave of pain washes over him: Lucifer is in his brain, trying to move his right arm. 

“No!” Dean manages, echo to Castiel’s, and fights with all he has left to keep his arm down by his side.

Cas is there, bloodied and with a terrible jagged hole in his side, but there. He grabs Dean’s shoulder with his left hand, twisting, and both Dean and Lucifer scream. 

Dean knows, he _knows,_ he would do the same thing, and he tries to relax his grip, focusing what little control he possesses on the nerves running down his right arm.

“Dean,” Cas says. “I am sorry.”

Castiel takes the Colt from his hand and shoots him between the eyes.

 

_Destination: 38 thousand miles_

The kill code embeds itself in the entwined form of Dean and Lucifer.

Castiel watches with dual vision. On one level, he sees the bullet pierce Dean’s skin, skull, brain. The entry wound is neat and small. The exit is not: blood and bone and gray matter splatter the wall.

His deeper level of perception watches the pattern break: watches the code unspool, numbers falling randomly away and losing organization, as the kill code seeks and unerringly deprograms the deepest levels of Dean’s – and Lucifer’s – being. 

It hurts, desperately. That tiny subroutine had grown, reinforced by all the connections, all the times it was employed. The piece of him that watches Dean Winchester, that desires his wellbeing above all else, is signaling frantically, battering at the rest of his programming as it watches its object fall apart.

It is overridden, though. It must be. Castiel was written, created, to do the Programmer’s will and to preserve humanity. He is not Lucifer: that core directive cannot be defied.

The kill code has almost completed its job. It burrows in deeper. Castiel wants to close his eyes, turn away, but he cannot. He watches, gritting his teeth, as the root code is exposed.

He sees, for the briefest instant, the glitch at the heart of Lucifer’s code, and then it is gone, splintered, falling away. No hope of reassembly.

They have won. 

And he has lost so, so much.

The Colt is a dead weight in his right hand. In his left…

He blinks in disbelief at his left, shifting from inner to outer vision and back.

The projection of his left hand is still grasping Dean’s body tightly by the shoulder. It slumps now in his grasp, but does not fragment as he would expect.

The code running through his left hand is also holding something. A fragile string, uncorrupted, with nothing of Lucifer in it.

Castiel drops the Colt. His unnecessary breath is hard and panicked; he can almost feel a nonexistent heartbeat pounding in his chest.

“I will find you,” he says – _prays_ – and places his right hand on Dean’s body’s forehead. He closes his eyes now, goes deep, and pulls, rebuilds, as hard as he can.

It comes: constructed of the thread that remains, of his memories, of his dreams. It builds from the point where they are joined: code mixing, spawning, pouring out of him and into the projection of Dean. 

It is maybe like sex, like giving birth, like being born. Castiel wouldn’t know; it is like nothing he has ever experienced. All his self is focused on this: gripping Dean tightly and pulling him out of the abyss.

The stream of programming slows, comes to an end.

He opens his eyes.

 

_Destination: 20 thousand miles_

Dean opens his eyes.

It’s utterly dark. His limbs feel strangely heavy. 

He tries to bring a hand up in front of his face, and it slams against an inflexible surface. He raises both and slides them up along it: it’s a smooth, cool slab. He feels out to his sides: the same material is there, a few inches to each side of his body. Below him, however, the surface is softer, more yielding, and molded to his body.

Memory returns, slowly.

He’s in a stasis cell. They’re on the ship. 

Weird. The last thing he remembers is giving Sam the thumbs up as they both climbed into their cells, and then the face of the med tech who lowered the lid over him. He thought he’d remember the time he spent in virtual reality during the journey. He’s sure they told him that. 

Oh well. Whatever. Time to get up.

Wasn’t there supposed to be a light in here? He’s pretty sure they told him that too. 

Maybe something’s malfunctioned?

“Sam,” he says out loud. If something’s going wrong, he needs to get out of here. Make sure Sam’s okay. Light or not, there should be a release button somewhere along the right side of the lid.

His fingers find it. The seal on the lid pops. He pushes it aside and sits up.

Something’s definitely wrong. A few lights are on, enough for him to see that all the stasis cells around him, rows upon rows of them, are still humming. Still keeping their contents asleep.

All except for the one next to his. It’s also powered off, lid pushed aside.

“Sam!”

His legs wobble a bit for the first several steps, feet prickling as they wake up fully. He rolls his shoulders as he walks, then breaks into a run. He doesn’t know why they’re the only ones awake early, but he figures the answers are probably in the main control room and so Sam probably is too.

The hallway is dim, only a few faint emergency lights glow at intervals. The air is stale, with no hum of ventilation fans. The ship is still asleep.

“Sam!”

“Dean?!”

He was right. The answering shout comes from the control room. He rounds the corner and skids to a halt, mouth falling open.

Sam is standing by the panel of computer controls at the pilot’s station. Behind him is the viewport, and it’s a stunning sight. Almost half of it is filled with the curving, blue-white swirl of a planet with oceans and clouds, bright against the black expanse of space.

“We’re here,” he breathes. 

“Dean!” 

Sam sounds beyond freaked out. Dean tears his gaze away from the view, and gets a little freaked himself by the crazy intensity radiating off Sam. The depth of shock and fear on Sam’s face is alarming. He looks haunted.

“Dude,” Dean says, a horrible thought hitting him. “How long have you been awake? Tell me your cell didn’t malfunction.”

“It’s been about an hour out here.” Sam runs a hand through his hair. “I managed to find the controls Cas was talking about, but I couldn’t get any of the commands to work. How long has it been in there?”

Dean blinks. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“How long in Matrix time?” Sam sounds frustrated. “What’s happened? And why are you out here?” His eyes widen; he backs up against the console. “Oh god. Please, no. Lucifer?”

Dean’s jaw drops. “Tell me you haven’t been awake the whole trip.”

He can’t have been. That would drive anyone crazy. But Sam definitely isn’t looking or sounding completely sane right now. 

“The whole trip?” Sam’s forehead is furrowed in confusion. “You mean…”

“From Earth, Sammy. How long have you been awake? You’re sounding like your brain’s kinda scrambled.”

Sam’s jaw drops. Dean wouldn’t have thought it was possible for him to look more freaked out, but somehow Sam’s managing it. Even his hair looks startled.

“Dean,” he says. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Going to sleep.” He frowns. “I thought we were supposed to remember the time we spent in VR during the trip. Didn’t they tell us that?”

“Fuck,” Sam breathes. “Oh, my god. Dean.” His head snaps up. “But – your name’s Dean? And you know who I am?”

“I think I know my own brother,” Dean says. “What the hell is wrong with you, Sammy?”

Sam’s whole body relaxes; he lets out a massive relieved sigh. “Thank god. I didn’t know for sure if we were brothers. Out here.”

“Jesus, Sam. You really are fucked up.” Dean frowns. “You keep saying out here. You mean, you remember being in?”

Sam bites his lip. His mumbled answer is so quiet, Dean has to strain to hear it. “That’s all I remember.”

Dean frowns. That makes no sense. “Six or seven years of memories is all you got? What about before? You’re in your body. It has your brain. You can’t have forgotten.”

Sam shudders. “It was a lifetime in there, Dean. The me that was there, the me that’s here now – I remember us as kids. I remember a whole _life_ together, Dean. But I don’t have any of this body’s memories. I don’t remember anything about Earth. Cas – he's a friend of ours, on the inside – guessed I wouldn’t, because I didn’t go through the proper awakening process. We sort of forced me out of stasis.”

“So how do you get them back?”

He knows the answer even before Sam says it, reads the guilt in the familiar hang-dog look.

“You don’t know how?”

“I don’t think I can.” 

Dean growls, stomps a few feet away, then spins and comes back. “Damn it, Sam! What the hell did you do that for? What was so important that you decided to stage a break-out and screw over your own mind?”

“Uh,” Sam says. “The lives of everyone on this ship and the future existence of the colony?” He shrugs apologetically. “It sounds melodramatic to say out loud, but it’s true.”

“How could you know that? In there?” Dean huffs in frustration; it makes no sense. “And the ship seems fine.” He looks past Sam and out the viewport, where the edge of the planet is bright against the black. “We made it here. Looks like it’s achieved stable orbit.”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “But nobody’s waking up.”

“Except us.” 

“Because we forced it. At least, I did. You – I have no idea.”

“Me neither.” Dean sighs. “So what’s the problem?”

“The computer’s supposed to end the simulation and turn off the stasis, now we’re here. But it’s stuck. It isn’t doing it.”

“Huh.” Dean frowns. “Well, you should be able to figure it out. You’re the programmer.”

“What?” Sam frowns. “Me? I thought Chuck was the Programmer.”

“Chuck?” Dean blinks. “Chuck Shurley? Well yeah, he was, on Earth. He’s the guy who built the simulation system, but he didn’t come with us. You’re the lead programmer on the ship.” 

He stops, realizing what he’s saying. It’s unreal, unbelievable, that Sam doesn’t remember anything about their life. This is his brother, his other half, and simultaneously a complete stranger wearing a familiar face. It doesn’t compute.

“Oh, shit. You _were_ the lead programmer.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. There’s a couple of others along, but you were Chuck’s star pupil. You’re supposed to be in charge of re-programming the AI when we make planetfall. Setting it up to run the place and stuff.”

“Holy shit.” Sam shakes his head, wild-eyed. “Then we are in deep trouble. I don’t remember him at all. You know, Chuck did come with us? You – I mean the Dean inside – were heading to see him, when I came out here.”

“No.” Dean shakes his head. “No way he came. He had loads more stuff he was working on, back home.”

“He put a copy of himself in the Matrix. He was in charge of, like, the whole world in there. But I think he lost control of it.”

“He programmed himself in?” Dean snorts. “Jeez. God complex much?”

“What were you?” Sam asks. “I mean, what are you?”

“A medic.”

Sam laughs a little hysterically at that. “Huh. Guess that explains why you were always the best at stitching us up. Even Dad said so.”

Dean boggles. “Did I have to do that a lot?”

Sam stares back at him, mouth opening and closing.

“You have no idea,” he says finally.

“Yeah, I’m getting that.” Dean sighs. “Look, let’s get this sorted. Once we make planetfall, you can tell me about it over a drink. Lots of drinks. I have a feeling this story’s going to need them.”

“Planetfall.” Sam frowns. “Can you pilot this thing?”

Dean snorts. “Fuck, no. I’m a medic, not a pilot.”

“Then we’re still in trouble,” Sam says. “We’re in stable orbit. The solar screens are all deployed. All the conditions are met. People should be waking up. But they’re not. Cas, he’s a...uh, he knows a bit about this stuff. He said I needed to enter this code here, and it would get things moving again.” 

Sam jerks his head at the console. “But it didn’t work. I’ve tried it a bunch of times, and run through all the variations I could think of. It only gets a few commands in and then aborts. I think…”

He gives Dean a considering look, then throws up his hands. “You think I’m crazy anyway, so what the fuck. There’s a self-aware program in there that calls himself Lucifer, and he thinks humanity is a waste of good electrons. I think he’s found a way to block it from the inside. You and Cas were fighting him. I don’t know how that went down, but I’m thinking the fact you got kicked out here isn’t a good sign.”

His eyes darken. “I think maybe you died. In there.”

Dean thinks that through. It makes his brain hurt. “So…the fake personality got wiped?”

“It wasn’t fake!” Sam explodes. “That was my _brother!_ ”

“ _I’m_ your brother!” Dean yells. “Or actually, I’m _Sam’s_ brother! You’re some crazy fuck who thinks our ship AI is the Devil!”

“It’s the truth!” Sam glares. “ _My_ brother is in there, fighting him! And I don’t even know if he’s alive!”

They stand toe to toe, glaring each other down. 

“Okay,” Dean says finally. “Okay, Sammy. You’re you, I’m me, we’ve maybe got some other selves somewhere. We can deal with that later. Right now, we’ve got work to do.”

He walks over to the console and stares down at the glowing lines of numbers. “What’s supposed to happen?”

“That code there.” Sam still radiates unhappiness, but he follows Dean. “It’s supposed to start the stasis reversal.”

“But it doesn’t work?” Dean taps at the softly blinking button that says “Confirm”.

“No, it…”

Sam breaks off as the large wallscreen flickers to life. 

“ _Accepted,_ ” a female voice says from somewhere.

There’s a new hum in the air, ventilation systems starting up. The screen under Dean’s fingers shifts to become navigation controls.

Dean smirks. “You were saying?” 

Sam stares at the controls, then looks up at the screen on the wall, now showing a schematic of the ship itself with various areas beginning to light up in different colors.

“You must have done it,” he breathes. “You and Cas. Good for you.”

And then Dean’s caught up in a hug that nearly squeezes the breath out of him. 

 

_Destination: Unknown._

Dean opens his eyes. His shoulder burns.

“Welcome back to our world.” Castiel says. “I missed you.”


End file.
